Hollow's Ground
by AC Phoenix
Summary: Katie Hollow and her kid-brother Oliver are making a short road trip to their relatives’ house, but along the way they stumble across a giant stranger. He calls himself Jacob Black, but she finds out that his secret is darker than his name.
1. The Misfit

Twilight is owned by Stephanie Meyers.

I know for sure that this story is going to be sometime after Eclipse, but I'm debating whether or not I should put spoilers in here. It might be a little difficult for me not to, but if you're one who doesn't like spoilers, I'll try and give a warning at the disclamer. Otherwise, enjoy.

Sorry readers, I made a few errors at first, but then I fixed them. I tried fixing up a little of the grammar too.

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Chapter One: The Misfit

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_I had always wondered what it would be like to live in the valley, but I never got it right. My imagination was nothing like my younger brother, Oliver, who sat giddily in the backseat as he had watched the flat-surfaced city change into the mountain terrain; the place where we should have been hours ago..._

**_Day One._**

It was still a starry morning when I had woken up in my familiar bed: the bed that I had slept in since I was nearly ten, but not tonight. No matter how many times my parents had tried to convince me that it was time to get a new bed, I would protested severely, and would even point out that I was too small for a full-sized bed. As you can see, being small never really bothered me. In fact, I actually liked it. I wasn't long, sleek and sheer— the kind of girls that boys drooled on. My body was slim, but still very tiny. My hair was smooth and strawberry red, like Anne of the Green gables. And I hid my silvery blue eye color with a dull olive green so I could blend in with the crowed even more. "A silver coin hidden within copper pennies." My dad would tell me, but I always ignore the compliment.

Although it was probably just three or four in the morning, there were still so many things I needed to do before I left: Pack my quilt and pillow, feed my cat "Florence", put her in the kennel, feed myself, my humane hygiene routine, and then change. I didn't have to worry about my blonde kid-brother until we got ourselves into the car—after a long discussion about the move, my mom had finally countered that I wouldn't have to start keeping an eye on him until we left her roof. The only dignity I had in that argument was that I kept my poker face on throughout the whole conversation, whereas I usually started with a sob story. Ever since then, she'd always try to cheer me up by saying wonderful things about the valley-coated city called "Simi". She even brought up that my relatives were thrilled to have me, with inappropriate enthusiasm. The ploy was unnecessary.

"Your Uncle George can't wait to see you, sweet pea. He even said that your cousins Ginger and Mandy couldn't wait for you to come over. See? It's not so bad."

Yes. It _was_ bad. But I couldn't complain in front of them; especially since they had requested _me_ to come live with them after their recent…mourning. I hadn't a clue why they wanted us to be with them, my brother and I, but I suppose it was because we show the same presence of the passed love one. Aunt Terri was a sweet, caring woman who always put others before her, but she too didn't like to "stick out like a sore thumb" as she would say. She understood my need of keeping precious things, like a pack rat, and would probably even understand why I wouldn't want to leave my precious Oregon, but I couldn't refuse this time. It would have been rude and selfish.

As I came downstairs with my final bag—equipped with my favorite book, beloved quilt, and fluffy pillow—my father greeted me through his newspaper shield while my mother set a plate of her special cinnamon and chocolate pancakes. The ones that always motivated me to move quicker as I stepped down the stairs while my mouth watered for three helpings. The fluffy disks steamed pleasantly as I set myself down on the chair in front of them, reaching my hand out for the marmalade jam. There were also sausages, bacon and eggs on large plates and I would eventually devour them when I got my hands onto them.

"Why don't you just use maple syrup?"

_Here we go again_, I thought to myself with a sigh. This was so typical for my father: He would always ask me the same question whenever the pancakes were laid out, as if he never heard the same answer before, and then I'd speak to him in an as-a-matter-of-fact tone, saying that syrup was too soupy and messy. I also liked to "butter" the jam in between the flat cakes, so they wouldn't slip when I sliced all three tiny pieces at once and shoved them into my mouth. He'd chuckle while I gulped down every bit of it and then chugged down the Orange Juice before finishing off my sunny-side up eggs. I didn't touch the bacon though; my mom had probably purpously burnt them for Oliver. It was his favorite delicacy.

"I never imagined that such a tiny little thing could eat so much…"

Typical.

"I need as much protein as I can get." I countered.

This would have been the point where my mom would say: "All right you two, that's enough. I won't have a war-zone at the table so make peace with each other." But instead, she giggled femininely as she washed the preteen boy's dish who licked the soupy syrup off of his fingers. I guess it was because she knew that this would be our last breakfast together for a while— and for a moment, I thought I heard a quick whimper, but as I glanced back, her back was still facing us. I frowned, then quietly chewed my second helping of eggs, and then, started to nibble onto the end of my tiny sausages. For a while, there was an uneasy tension in the room, the one that everyone seemed to be avoiding. My eyes flickered towards Oliver, who appeared to either be in deep thought; complete boredom, or utter curiosity. Either way, he still spoke out.

"Dad, any news about California?"

One of the pages of the newspaper turned and I could tell that he was scanning the print for any updates with the world.

"Sorry kiddo… no wait… there's been some reports about a bear somewhere in the valley. And then there's the usual _be aware of coyotes in the Foothills. They're not dangerous if you keep your distance._" He shook his head. "I want you kids to stay out of the woods, okay? No funny business."

"Okay." We both chimed.

Of course, the only reason that I would ever go into the woods is if I _had_ to take a picture of something. Bears lived in the woods, right? But how many forests or woods were in the valleys? The questioned made me ponder, half-deciding what would be a good area to take photos while the other half was wondering if Oliver would complain from side site-viewing, but then again, Uncle George was never really one to be patient. He would have suspected me to get to California within four days, but I could easily counter with that. I was a new and confused driver.

Both my photography camera and motion camera that had been packed in weeks of advance had been itching to be filled out, while my digital camera had been practically full from "goodbye" photos with my friends. I'd have to develop those pictures soon—so I could fill out all of my empty scrapbooks that had already been mailed to my cousins. They would keep them safe until I came but I started to wonder if our mother would start to agonize for letting her children drive into another state.

We finished our last breakfast with silence.

_**5:00AM.**_

Our parents had incredibly good poker faces—neither of them let a speck of tear leash from the corner of their eyes. It made me feel terrible as I hugged and kissed them goodbye, because I had already let the salt waters stream down my cheeks. I had used my last poker face for the wrong time and the wrong place, but I was glad that I hadn't made too much of a fit about it.

"Katie, now I want you to take care of your little brother. He's _your_ responsibility now and you're almost seventeen."

I nodded once to my mother before burying my face into her stomach before leaving. She gently stroked my naturally waved hair when she kissed the top of my head then started to hum a short version of my lullaby that she had always sang to me whenever I was troubled or before I went to sleep. Sometimes she'd even hum it while she was cleaning the house as I did my homework in the kitchen area. The tears slowly stopped overflowing and came to a dead halt as her slender arms pulled away from me.

Oliver had already said his goodbyes and he was eagerly honking on my new Sedan—a welcoming gift from my uncle and his daughters, but I saw it as a bribe. I had just recently claimed my driver's license and my dad was even impressed that I was such a "born driver". I sighed as I slowly took the driver's seat, for the first time in months, and jerked the key to the right. The electric blue car awoke with an easy purr, then, I instructed my brother to put his seatbelt while I did the same. Just to make sure, I adjusted the mirror to make sure it was on, then I shifted it back to where it should be.

Our parents' reflections appeared in the review mirror, sadly waving their hands as the black wheels started to whirl. I could have imagined it, but I thought I saw my mother's head start to fall to her knees, but our father caught her before her hands hit the floor. I bit my tongue in protest to start crying, creating a new pain to distract myself. Oliver saw the distress and frantically asked me what was wrong, but I shook my head, not trusting my voice to speak.

I tried to go over the course that Uncle George discussed with our father and myself: which hotels it was best for us to pre-pay, how long we should stay for breakfast, and then I added in my input that I wanted a few hours to ourselves. Why not make this road trip fun? But I knew that I was only kidding myself if I thought I could go through with driving without an experienced driver; I had always had a hard time getting off and on the right road and I would occasionally bump into another car in front of me. Some born driver I was. The only thing I was _born_ to do was blend in with everyone around me.

Sometime around the afternoon, my phone buzzed for the first time. I knew this phone call would come sooner or later—he had told me to call him each time I checked-in the hotel. His even voice was false—I knew him to be a terrible liar, but I never challenged his fury.

"I'm sorry. I missed the highway that I was suppose to."

He asked me which road I was on and I could practically hear him bite his tongue before he spoke out. _"It's all right. Drivers make mistakes. Just call me back when you find your way, all right?"_

I nodded, but it was unnecessary. "Okay then."

His phone on the other line died and I gave an exhaling breath.

"George was angry, wasn't he?" Oliver deducted. I was silent and he grinned immediately, loving to see that his older sister was going to be in trouble for once.

"Not funny." I said flatly.

"Actually, it's _very_ funny."

**_Mid-Noon_**

We found ourselves in an unpronounceable city and I had only realized that this had been my second wrong turn of the day. When I parked the car in the lot, I grumbled unappealing threats to my brother as he had his impish grin on his face. He stepped out of the car and I killed the engine, pulling out the key and whirled it by the ring within my index finger before unbuckling and stepping out. The car beeped after I slammed the door and walked along side of my brother as we headed for _my_ first shop: the bookstore.

"Do you have your phone on ringer?"

"Yes." He sighed with a bored tone.

"Half an hour and we go eat. Then it's your turn, but if you even step as little of an inch outside of this store, I'll make your life miserable."

He rolled his eyes and spoke curtly before leaving, "As if you haven't done that already."

I clamped my lips into a tight line, forcing myself not to make a scene. At the heel of my foot, I turned sharply and walked the opposite way. After a short steamed walk, I found myself in the music section and placed a set of earphones onto my ears, picking up the closest CD I could find. I scanned it and started to listen to the whining music, but paused it after a few seconds, visibly cringing. My body stiffened when a cool breath whispered behind me and I practically jumped, accidentally stomping on the stranger's foot. I lowered the earphones and whirled around, opening my mouth for an apology but her white teeth blinded me. She looked incredible. Almost like a pixie, but no wings.

"I apologize about that, miss."

I shook my head feverishly, "No, no, my fault."

When my head stopped moving I realized that she was no taller than I was, but her eyes looked unhealthily hollow. Like the black abyss.

I didn't know how long I had gazed into them, but the sound of her voice was less polite when she asked me what was wrong. I shook my head feverishly again, trying to say that nothing was wrong, but I didn't think she buy into that lie; my breath was still uneven and I was glad that I hadn't started hyperventilating. Why did she scare me so much?

She gave a single nod in response and started to walk away. As she did, I started to notice that she was covered from head to toe, as if she was hiding every inch of it. From a distance, she didn't seem as frightening as before, but every inch of my body was still trembling like a maniac who had just told me that the aliens were coming to invade our planet and I had believed them. I held my breath a few seconds before letting it escape from my lips, but it didn't help much. I suddenly felt un-hungry, parched and had no desire to entertain myself.

Unwillingly, I moved my shaky arms to the earphones and pulled them off, setting them back to where they should be. Even more regrettably, I started to walk stiffly towards the Starbucks connected to the bookstore and quietly ordered a coffee and a chocolate-chip cookie; Oliver would like that. My fingers anxiously tapped the rhythm of my heartbeat while I waited for the coffee to be made. _No sugar, just cream_, I ordered myself. The last thing I needed was to be a solicitously wired driver.

The guy on the other side of the counter came back with my paid food and carefully headed towards the single table on the side and grabbed a pair of cream pouches before heading towards an empty table. I ignored the suspicion that my fear had caused; the suspicion that would have made me feel like a criminal even though I hadn't stolen anything. Shakily, I mixed the cream with the caffeine and found myself rejuvenated after the first two sips.

Oliver was eager after my phone call, running gleefully to his cookie that he imagined cried out his name. As I lifted it he seized the plastic-wrapped junk food in his hands and started to tear it open as he stood. I shook my head, laughing, and told him to sit down. Once he did, he gnawed a huge chunk of the cookie, just like I had whenever our dad had gotten me a cookie from Starbucks. When he swallowed he finally looked at my face and raised his brows.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?" I asked, trying not to sound cautious. It was a waste though; I was a terrible liar when I was nervous or nauseated.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost." He took another bite of his cookie, but this one was smaller. "And he just painted your face with Florence's bushy tail."

I choked, forgetting that we had left the feline in the car. "She'll fry!"

He laughed at my expression and I rolled my eyes. Typical. He hated cats.

"No she won't. She's not even in the car."

I looked at him, dazed. "But I swear I thought I—OLIVER!"

My hand squeezed hard on the plastic cup and everyone glanced as its contents spilled out from my death grip. With the cookie—and an impish grin—he ran out of the store without me. I abandoned the mess, ignoring the un-sensational burn on my hand, as I chased after my annoyingly sneaky brother. If I had ever got my hands on him he'd have to come up with something pretty slick for me to not pound him a pulp.

**_Evening._**

I cussed ever so softly as I realized I had taken the wrong road for the third time, but this time, I caught on quickly and made to the right road this time. My phone buzzed for the fifth time this day, but I knew who was calling. Uncle George was not patient after three days, but my parents knew better to trust me. I was, after all, their eldest daughter. Even though I felt like squeezing Oliver hard enough to make him turn purple, I had finally refrained myself from doing so. Mom wouldn't have appreciated it and I would have gotten scolding from dad. I sighed as I tried to think of a way to get on the right road without crashing into anyone, but at least I had the upper hand than before: I wasn't as distracted, but I had wasted the caffeine rush for trying to keep up with my brother. _Wrong place at the wrong time_, I thought to myself with a shaking head.

Oliver was minding his own business with his new MP3 player, which probably contained the contents a Rock n' Roll band from the 80's. _If I could just make a U-y_, I thought. It'd been hours since I had slept and I was starting to feel the weight hang onto my eyelids. I fought them with protest, hoping to at least find a parking space, but I found none. The last thing I remember was a screeching sound, a scream, and the nauseating jerks of the car jumping out of control. My eyes jerked back open, listening to nothing but Oliver's crying.

I don't know where, or why, but we were already bouncing within the trees—I didn't know if I could exactly call it a forest, but it was too dark for me to make any sense of it all. I tried spinning the wheel from left to right, but it didn't do much good, and at some point of it all I found myself screaming louder than Oliver had. Like the idiot of a driver I was, I shielded my eyes from the horror that appeared before us, wishing that it would end soon. And it did, but with help. For a moment, I thought I had seen fur, but I couldn't picture it. The scene was moving too quickly for my mind to keep up.

I couldn't tell if the thing had hit the car or if the car had hit the thing, but either way, our bodies jerked with the momentum and the white airbags inflated as a cushion of protection. My sweaty palms were already in front of me when the bag came out, so it had some difficulty of choking me to death. To save myself, I unbuckled the seatbelt and tried to pull it off. The clammy hands did little to no success for a few minutes, but then, I felt another set of big warm hands cover mine up as they easily unbuckled it.

"Out." The husky voice ordered, but it was not forced. It was almost gentle.

I unnaturally obeyed this stranger and squirmed out of the car.

_My hero?_ I questioned to myself, wondering if it was the appropriate title to call him. For all I knew, he was going to push me aside and take my unacknowledged kid-brother with him along with useless junk with him. But to my surprise, he did no such thing. His warm finger curled under my chin, gently moving it left to right as if to examine me. It was too late at night to study his shadowed features, or I was just too lazy to focus my mind and concentrate. His words flew through my ears, partly because I couldn't pay attention and partly because I thought he was speaking a foreign language. _Native American?_ I guessed. The most foreign languages I have heard were Spanish and French, both classes which I remembered taking my first two years of high school.

He finally spoke in English after a while, but I still had trouble keeping up with him. My head was still spinning from all of the car's movements and my stomach had been gurgling in an unpleasant way—threatening to let out all of its contents from the early afternoon. I heard him sigh and he easily picked me up into his arms, walking towards the other side of the car. It was then, I noticed, that the car was unbelievably in almost perfect condition, but then I guessed that we never really crashed into anything hard or life threatening.

In his arms I felt incredibly tiny and almost helpless. If I wanted to, I could probably scratch his eyes out, but the only thing that was stopping me from doing so was my conscious telling me that he wasn't bad. I wanted to believe it, but I had an uneasy feeling that didn't have to with motion sickness. I squinted my eyes as I felt a warm breeze tickle into my ear, but my mind told me that it was a whisper with one single word:

"_Sleep."_


	2. Complications

Twilight is owned by Stephanie Meyers.

No spoilers for now. Enjoy.

A few minor grammar changes have been fixed. Sorry about that, but I don't realize my errors until I post them up here and re-read them.

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Day Two Chapter Two: Complications

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**_Day Two_**

I was never one who could easily dream. Well, not for a while at least.

When the other girls in the fifth grade had been dreaming for their knight in shining armor, I had been worrying about meeting the wrong guy. The ones who want you to change your personality because they say: "I love you" as a ploy. I guess I could say that I was only being cautious, just the way I always was when I didn't want anyone to look at me. But what was I afraid of? I've been so use to being run by my bad habits that I must have forgotten at some point along the way. And at some point of it all, I must have forgotten how to dream without the bad endings.

I knew that I hadn't dreamed the other night. The first reason being that dreams can't really _hurt_ you, and secondly, I was a terribly boring dreamer. My last dream was almost like seeing the future, or more accurately "deja vu", but the only difference was that Uncle George was a wolf-man dressed in a Hawaiian shirt while Ginger and Mandy both were cat-faced.

But yesterday was reality. And I wasn't sure if I could bring myself to wake myself up.

And, for a split second, I thought I could have been dead. But then I felt the punching feeling in my chest, rabidly jumping up and down. It was my heart. And I had just terrified it. If I was truly dead, then, I would have not heard voices around me, would I? I don't know. And I doubt that the living world will ever find out until it's too late.

"She's a real terrible driver, you know? Always taking the wrong turns, crashing against someone's car when parallel parking. It's a _nightmare_. You can drive, though, right? You said you like fixing cars."

Oh no, this wasn't death speaking to me—not literally anyways. I easily recognized my brother's chattering voice and he was already _insulting_ me. As if I wasn't there. Well, I hadn't heard most of it, so he probably thought that it was safe for him to start nagging about me. _Wrong._

"I said I like fixing cars, never said that I could drive, kid." I could imagine Oliver's sulky pout as he continued. "And I doubt that she would ever let me take the wheel. Nice car though…" he ended thoughtfully.

"But you're on the wheel _now_. And you said you're sixteen, so, you're legible. Right? Right? And I told you: My name's Oliver, not _kid_."

Sixteen? He hardly sounded sixteen. Then, I instantly remembered the figure in the dark and my eyes burst open. He was in the car—but not _just _in the car, he was in the _driver's seat_. They must have not noticed my sudden alarm, since I had been so quiet, but now I realized that my eyes were blurry, which meant that my contacts had fallen out during the fiasco. I swore silently, knowing that I had to wear my half-moon glasses.

"Oh, you're up."

"Yes." I replied curtly.

"…I thought you had green eyes."

My eyes glared towards the tanned blob that sat next to me. He had invited himself in _my_ car and all he could notice was that my eyes changed color. How did he even notice? It was dark out… at least… I thought it was.

"Oh, those were her contacts. Mom said she put your glasses case in the gloved department."

_Thanks a lot_. I thought dryly.

I sighed as I tried to look for the glove compartment's switch, but gave a mouth-clamped groan when it was nowhere to be found.

"Here, let me."

My body jerked back to the door, not realizing how close his head had been. I heard a small click, then, he pulled out something in a curved rectangular shape. There was another click and then I helplessly watched as he placed the glasses on for me. I smacked my head against the window, surprised again, but swore silently as I gingerly placed both hands on my head.

"Sorry," he mumbled before shying away back into the driver's seat.

"So are we going or what? I don't want to hear all of that mushy-gushy crap."

"Oliver!" I hissed as I darted my eyes towards him. I heard a low snort and shot my eyes back towards the stranger again, but he had a compelled expression.

"His name's Jake."

The forced face fell to somber, probably regretting that he ever mentioned the name. I guessed that he must have said it to finally get him out of his misery from listening to Oliver's constantly annoying chatter about nothing.

"I'm not driving." He said in a voice, just barely above a whisper.

"I'm fine with that."

"Of course _you_ are. But what about what _I _want? You nearly got ourselves killed."

"I did _not_."

"Yes you did."

"All right, all right! That's it! I'm driving."

I looked towards Oliver with one final glare before settling myself down on the chair and buckling down the seatbelt. He sat behind me, probably because he would have been crushed from Jake; his seat was pulled back as far as it would let him and I assumed that that was the way he would have been driving. Of course, I was right, but I wasn't exactly happy with this. It looked too dangerous for him to be too far from the front, but what could he do? Be stuffed in a dryer and wait for his audience to pull him out until he shrank a few feet?

He looked at the map (that he must have gotten it before he closed the glove compartment) and then shifted his eyes to the dirty road that laid before us—it wasn't really a road, but he seemed to know where he was going once he stuffed the map-quested maps into the fold on the ceiling. Oliver tried to keep his conversation up like he had earlier, but Jake had finally put him in his place once he said he needed quiet so he could concentrate.

He was giving me the impression that he was in a bad mood, so I remained silent. Half-fearing that he might kick his feet into the front of the Sedan if I crossed him the wrong way.

* * *

The clock read _**6:43AM **_when we came to a soundless halt—I had dosed off again, but I couldn't remember how long we had been driving. The car pulled up to the front of the first Holiday Inn that we came in front of, and it was _now_ that I had finally realized that my phone had been buzzing like a maniac. My eyes winced as I opened the phone in front of me, easily hearing the angry responses on the other side of the line. When they started to calm down, I spoke in a soothingly tone.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. We just arrived at the inn. Will they let us stay?"

I paused for his response and winced.

"Three. It's for… uh… I ran into one of my good friends Jackie along the way."

Another pause. I thought I heard both boys snort.

"She snuck into the car when I wasn't looking."

"_Well then…" _I could tell in his voice he didn't buy my "Jackie" story._ "I'd very much like to meet this_ Jackie_ when you get here, all right? No funny business."_

"Of course not." I nearly squeaked. I slammed the phone shut before I got another response.

"You're as terrible a liar as you are a driver."

I shot a glare at him. "Well, _sorry_ but I just spent my night sleeping in the car while being nauseated at the same time."

He gave a wary smirk, "Okay, I see your point."

"_Thank you._"

"If she starts getting really sarcastic, then she's used to you." Oliver hinted.

"Hmm… interesting."

I don't know why, but I really didn't like the tone of his thoughtful hum. He looked back towards the seat, "All right, kid. Do you mind stepping out for a bit?"

"If it means that I'll be missing all the mushy-gushy stuff, then yeah. I'm game."

"Oliver!" I hissed. He laughed, possibly because my face was pale with a blush color on my cheeks, then, helped himself out of the car and ran into the hotel.

"Stupid snot-nosed brat…" I grumbled.

I could see in the corner of my eye Jake was shaking his head with another wary smirk as he turned the wheel of the car and parked it into one of the empty spaces. He toggled the keys to the right before pulling them out of the hole and gently took one of my hands—his big hands felt incredibly hot. Like if you were standing in front of a wildfire but you were at least half a mile away. When I winced, his expression was hard to read, and his hands quickly parted from mine before he placed the keys into my hand.

"Sorry,"

"S'not your fault." I said, gazing my eyes towards the window.

For a minute—a very _long_ minute—the only thing that I could hear was the unsteady beats of my heart. I placed my hands gingerly on top of my chest, taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling. What was wrong with me? The worst that could happen came yesterday, and I _lived_ through it. When I assumed that there were no more words to be spoken, I unbuckled my belt and he mimicked me. We both leaned back on our chairs, not sure of what need to be said.

I sighed. "I suppose I owe you one."

"Don't worry about it. I'm not going to stick around for too long anyways."

"I figured as much…" My eyes flickered towards him for a moment and then watched as a mother and her infant child step out of the car while the husband unloaded the car. It would have made a nice photograph. "…That's why I'm letting you stay with us tonight at the inn. You look terrible."

"But—"

"Really, no big deal. All you need is a cot at the end of the bed so you can stretch out your legs. Obviously Oliver is going to hate having to sleep next to me, but big deal. I doubt he'll make any fuss about it, if you're sticking around. I think he's starting to like you."

"Then I should go."

I narrowed my eyes. "Don't be so stubborn."

"I can be whatever I want to, you little manipulative—"

"_Manipulative?_ You think I'm trying to take advantage of you?"

"_I think he's starting to like you_. You're trying to make me feel guilty."

I sat up to my knees, placing my hands onto the glove compartment as I glowered at him. Why was he being so difficult?

"I am not—"

I choked on my words as I felt something hot stick onto my mouth. His giant hands crushed against my back, pulling me closer into him. My own tiny arms were tightly locked inside the wrapped arms and my legs started to tremble underneath me while I was breathlessly locked into him. My mood was swinging—at first, I wanted to slam my fist right at his jaw, but then my good hand started to feel like jell-o, only wanting to comb my finger through his messy black hair. I tried to scream, but my voice was gone and the words had dispersed into thin air. My head was as empty as a broken well; what the hell did he think he was doing? I couldn't decide for myself if I thought he was a completely idiotic hypocrite or an incredibly good kisser.

He started to lean down onto me, pushing me backwards until my head against the window. As he was shifting, I stabbed my teeth onto his lips. He howled, jerking his head away from mine, while I cowered into my chair. My hart was hammering against my ribcages, threatening to hop out from the anxious sensation. If it was a good or bad sensation, I couldn't tell. My head was whirling again, giving me another nauseated feeling.

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean… I—WAIT!"

I _didn't_ wait. My clammy hands found the doorknob, slamming the door open and I headed for the hotel. Colorless lights flashed against me and there was a loud honking noise—I think it was a Toyota, but I didn't pay attention to the details around me. For all I cared, someone could have run over and _still_ be satisfied. That scared me. Why did I enjoy it? He had just accused me of _manipulating_ me and I still wanted to run back to him. The present me didn't even care that he could have stolen the car, as I realized that the key must have fallen out of my hand at some point.

I saw Oliver waiting for me at the counter, then, all of my senses came back to me. As they came, I tried to keep myself busy, thinking of a way that would help me focus even clearer. I started with my name. _Katrina Elaine Hollow. 16. Capricorn. Oldest child. _If my eyes were bugged out, I wasn't going to try and mask it; it was only going to make things worse if I did. I spoke to the woman at the counter _Tracy_ her nameplate said. Surprisingly enough, my voice was perfectly even and very business-like. _Short and straight to the point_, I told myself.

"We pre-paid online."

"Name?"

I paused for a moment, not sure if Uncle George had put our name under Hollow or Eves. I went with my first guess.

"It should be under Hollow."

I drummed the tips of my nails onto the counter, waiting impatiently. I wanted to crash onto the bed. I didn't want to think about how Oliver would put me through hell if he found out that J—_he _wasn't going to stay with us. I gave a wary smile when she said that she had found our name, telling us to please wait a minute. When she left to find a pair of slide-cards, Oliver glared at me.

"What's with you?"

"Not now."

"Why isn't Jake—" he paused in mid-sentence when Tracey came back with two keys and handed them to me.

"Have a nice day."

_**11:05PM**_

"Well she needs to get over whatever she's having a problem with. You shouldn't have to sleep in the car, you _saved _us."

For the second time of the day, I was woken up by my brother's nagging voice, but it wasn't _to_ me. It was someone else… but who was it? I couldn't push myself to remember what happened before Tracy had wished us a good stay. Or rather, I didn't _want _to push myself to remember. I still wanted to sleep.

"She won't like it. And I was only planning to sleep in it for tonight, I was planning to leave."

My heart stopped for a short second, then, continued to beat in the familiar buh-bump rhythm. Part of me was gleeful when he had mentioned that he was planning to leave, but then I felt a horrible tinge of guilt and unhappiness. That part of me didn't want him to leave._ Please don't go,_ half of me begged. _He accused you of being a manipulator. Are you going to give into him just because he puckered his lips onto you?_ I mentally sighed. There was no way either half of me was going to be satisfied again.

"No! She's a terrible driver, don't you remember? And you're so cool. Don't go, please?"

"I shouldn't—"

"Yes you should! We owe you one, my sister and I. She got Uncle George to pre-pay for you, and now I'm going to pay you back by letting you stay with us _for the rest of the week._"

When Jake didn't reply to him I gave a verbal sigh and pulled out from bed. If Oliver had been planning to wake me up with irritation, he had succeded. "Oh _enough already_. If it will make him shut up _stay_."

Jake was staring at me with wide eyes, but I wasn't too surprised with his reaction; he had probably thought that I was still in a deep sleep. However, Oliver didn't seem to be too fazed by my reaction, instead, it was very much the opposite. He was grinning widely, giving him his true title: the manipulator. Whenever something didn't go his way, he either complained or didn't shut up until someone had finally said: "Okay, okay. _Shoot me._"

I pulled myself out of bed and stretched my arms out, listening as my sore muscles popped back into place. It wasn't until I went into the bathroom (memorizing the place where my half-moon glasses was place) that I noticed how unkempt I looked: My red hair was all over the place, probably from tossing and turning (and from sleeping in the car), but that was easily fixed with a very good hairbrush that was probably still in one of my bags. I was in need of a new pair of clothes and a little bit of make-up wouldn't kill me either. _It's better to blend in,_ I told myself, even though I was a little iffy about wearing make-up.

I winced as I heard the door shut by itself, no, not by itself; I would have called myself lucky if I had been alone. I could see Jake's giant body reflecting off of the mirror, but I ignored it as he took a hesitant step towards me. If it made him leave me alone in a quicker fashion, I would remain quiet. The second tiny voice in my head came to life, but I ignored it too when it begged me to start talking.

"You look terrible."

I shot a glare at him—his physical body. He was _insulting_ me after he— _No,_ I thought irritably, _I will _not_ think about that. That's just what he wants me to do. _

He didn't recoil from my death stare. Actually, he looked as though he were expecting it from me. The tanned angel ran his fingers across his head, sighing as though he were regretting something. I started to take a few steps for the door, not in the mood to speak, but he had gotten there before I had, sitting down firmly. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to refrain myself from giggling, but it came out as a snort. I knew I wasn't slaphappy, but the way his expression was had been some sort of trigger to my sense of humor.

"I'm not leaving until you talk to me."

"We don't have anything to talk about."

"Katie—"

"_No_." I stepped back, but he easily reached for me and set him into his lap. I tried to wriggle loose from his grip, but it only made him pull me closer to him. His bare skin was still scorching hot and I didn't understand; he should have been _dead_ with all of the heat. _Serves him right_, the negative voice told me. I realized by now that I had finally surrendered to him, but I gazed away towards the cupboards. My face was a scowl.

"I really am sorry…" He whispered.

"_Sure_." I replied dryly.

This made him snap, catching me off guard.

"Look, I didn't know what I was doing. I've… been having a hard time lately. And I'm tired. I haven't had that much sleep… not for a while."

"How long of a while?"

He was silent.

_Long enough..._ I deducted. I suddenly noticed the half-moons under his eyes and why his hair had been incredibly messy. He looked worse than I did.

I sighed exasperatedly. "I'll ask service to bring you a cot so your legs don't fall off of the bed."

"I don't mind."

I shook my head. "No, but _I _do. Be a good boy and listen to your host."

He chuckled. "Fine then, Ms. Katty."

"It's _Katie_." I emphasized the vowels.

"I like Katty better."

_**Midnight**_

I had been shifting in bed so much that Oliver had scornfully taken the couch, part of him wishing that he had kept his mouth shut about owing one to Jake— or wishing that he had thought of something more creative. Him sleeping in the car was looking better and better, but I couldn't do that. No, wait, _he _couldn't, but _I _could. All I had to do was just get up extra early and slip back into the bed and he wouldn't have noticed. If what he said was true, about him not sleeping a lot lately, then, he might sleep in much later than we had.

I kept my keycard in the pant of my pocket, slowly creeping towards the door on my toes, hoping that Jake wasn't a light sleeper._ From the way he was snoring, it doesn't sound like it,_ I told myself, trying to encourage my hand to reach for the door. It paused when there was a small knock on the other side, hesitating. The second knock was a little more forceful, and I froze as Jake choked between one of his snores, but my body loosened when his snore continued.

My hand hesitated for a short second while my mind wondered who on earth would be knocking at this late hour. I finally encouraged myself to let the knob turn, fearing that the knocks might turn into bangs; the last thing I needed was Jake catching me sneaking into the car. He would have insisted that he left, making it easier on both Oliver and my sleeping.

I only let the door open ever so slightly, enough for me to spy on whoever was on the other side, and my mouth gaped. Buzz-cut hair. Brownish-black eyes. And half-naked. The only difference with this boy was his features—so they couldn't really be brothers. They could have been friends. _Or enemies_, the tiny voice chimed. I would have to play it cool.

"Oh, well hi there."

I gave a single nod of acknowledgement.

"Uh, by any chance… is there someone named Jacob Black in there?"

I thought about this for a moment. _He said his name was _Jake. _And "Jacob" is a pretty common name…_ This thought made my lie feel a whole lot easier; at least, I hoped so. I ran the lie through my head once, just to make sure that it would sound right before I let it escape through my lips.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about."

"Must be the wrong room then…"

I didn't get it. The lie sounded almost perfect, so why did he seem like he wasn't convinced? The pressure of him knowing it was a lie made my voice break at first, but then I cleared it and spoke again.

"M-must be."

"Sorry to bother you."

"Mm-hmm." I gave another short nod before he started to walk away.

When I was sure that he had left, I shut the door silently, feeling that it was unnecessary, and very unsafe, for me to leave the room. There were four things that I was very sure about, but some of them had no answers. The very first thing that I knew was that Jake wasn't telling me something. Actually, he wasn't telling me _a lot_ of something. Secondly, Uncle George was going to be incredibly furious that I had let a boy stay with me in a hotel room. Thirdly, for whatever reason, there a boy named Jacob Black was missing. But over all of what was going on, I had a very strong feeling that everything was going to get a lot worse.


	3. Morning and Mourning

Before you get to the _really_ good stuff, you've got to start with the surroundings, right?

I really have no idea how this story is going to turn out.

Enjoy with spoiler-free chapters!

Chapter Three: Morning to Mourning

* * *

_**Day Three.**_

_**Day Four.**_

_**Day Five.**_

_**Day Six**_

The ride had been taking us longer than what Uncle George had anticipated, but there were three alternatives why it could have been taking so long: 1) Uncle George was thinking highly of me when he had first given me the car for my sixteenth birthday 2) We had been taking too many stops along the way or 3) Jake was purposely taking his sweet time, hoping that it would give us more time to be on the road. Or was he trying to avoid something? I was starting to get incredibly suspicious.

Each time he turned down my offer to drive, or to even look at the map, had gotten me more and more suspicious about the third option. _Maybe he's anxious because I told him about the other guy from that one night… he did sort of freak out when I asked him who Jacob Black was,_ I anticipated. _I think he said he was speaking_ _Quiletute when he was grumbling or something like that._

I didn't tell him about it until day five, but during Days Three and Four we spent most of our time trying to get to know each other a little better. He said that he was into scary movies and auto-mechanics, which wasn't that surprising to me. That was what most of "the guys" were interested in these days, right? He actually laughed for the first time when I told him that zombies and werewolves were childish and that I didn't really see anything fascinating about dead people with sharp fangs drinking blood of living humans. I was more interested with murder mysteries and survive-through-struggle type stories—I didn't believe in happy endings anymore, but I tolerated them a little better than I did with fantasy; I'd always talk through them, saying how they were doing it all wrong and too over-dramatic. That's why most of my friends didn't really go with me to the movies, unless they knew I was going to behave myself. I was easy to read.

Occasionally we would stop for gasoline and bathroom breaks, but then Jake would say he needed a minute on his own to "figure things out". When he would come back he'd have some twigs in his hair and a few scrapes, but whenever I asked what he was doing, he asked if we were ready to go. I didn't want to bother him about it, so I kept silent during most of the time. Oliver, however, thought of this as his turn to bring up conversations with Jake, seeing as I spent a whole day with non-stop talking. He'd say how he thought werewolves were interesting and how it would be cool to be able to run around at night.

I was a little surprised that he had given Jake Day Five, just like I had asked him to, but he couldn't help but ask why he needed to keep quiet. I lied to him, saying that we had gotten in an argument and I might have hurt his feelings. He didn't question me again, but I guessed that he was just too tired from the road trip.

Around noon we started to see a change in the highway, and I knew that we were getting close to where Oliver and I should have been. I had always wondered what it would be like to live in the valley, but I never got it right. My imagination was nothing like my younger brother, Oliver, who sat giddily in the backseat as he had watched the flat-surfaced city change into the mountain terrain: The place where we should have been hours ago—or if you want to be more accurate, 48 (with additional) hours ago.

I was pleased to see that Jake was in better shape, but he still wasn't in speaking terms with me. Whenever Oliver asked a question, he'd answer with a short response, but when the question required longer explanation, he was silent and then I would try as well as I could to either answer as well as I could or change the subject. I could tell that Jake was grateful, but it still wasn't enough for him to speak to me. What did I do to make him angry? Would it have been better for him if I had lied about what had happened last night? _He seemed to know that someone had been there, though._

My sleeveless elbow rested against the car door while my palm positioned my tilted head as I watched the road in front of us. I had gotten use to the quietness of the car, but I still itched to talk to Jake. The two tiny voices in my head had been appreciatively silent, but as always, my timing on everything was horribly wrong. I finally challenged my standards with the silence and started to hum thoughtfully, reminiscing the sound of my mother's lullaby. Oliver's sigh was dazed and almost sounded as though he was thinking what I was thinking: we were homesick.

For whatever reason, it could have been because he read my expression, Jake pulled his right hand off of the wheel and scooped mine into it, gently rubbing his thumb up and down the back of my hand. I felt a shock wave immerse into my body, but it didn't stop me from humming for a long while. I had forgotten how the tune ended, but added a few notes to fill it in; Oliver didn't complain, like I probably would have.

"You have a nice voice."

I couldn't help but look back towards him with wide eyes, taking me aback for a minute. My eyelids shifted so I was staring with a natural gaze.

"It's our mom's rhyme…"

That's the most that Jake has ever said for the rest of the hour. I had called Uncle George to let him know that we were on our way, and in response, he asked if "Jackie" was still with us. Jake gently squeezed my hand when he felt the tension of my body rise and I felt fairly relaxed. Before I hung up, I had told uncle that I would explain what had happened, but I wasn't going to be happy going through with it. My face grimaced as I gazed at the mobile. _Such a pain_…

"You know, I could always tell him what happened."

He released his hand from mine as he prepared to make a turn.

"No, I should do it. He… knows me better."

"If that's what you want…"

"Yeah, it is."

"Well, your calling waits for you. Here he is now."

Horrified, my eyes gazed up, but they relaxed as I realized that we had only entered the neighborhood. Jake snickered.

"That was so not funny Jake…" I said, mused.

"You should have seen the look on your face."

"I'm pretty sure that our uncle will have the same effect with you, so I probably will."

"Someone's in a better mood." Oliver grumbled.

Jake grinned. "Sorry kid, if your uncle doesn't slaughter me I'll make it up to you."

"How?" he asked curiously.

"You'll have to wait and see."

* * *

The Sedan came to a smooth halt in front of the second garage door after Oliver pointed out our relatives' house, then he killed the engine and handed me my key. I frowned when I clutched them in my hands, but squeezed tighter when I felt his lips press against my forehead. He laughed as Oliver spat out "Yuck!" and approached the two-story house.

"It's not going to be that bad."

I was trying to figure out if he had meant him meeting my uncle, or him having to leave. Either way, it _was_ going to be "that bad" because I would be the center of attention, well for the first couple of hours. Mandy was probably going to be spending most of her time questioning how I had met Jake and if we had already kissed; she'd probably squeal if I told her that we were in more than one hotel, but nothing happened. Well, nothing that she had anticipated. Ginger, however, was probably going to be mellow—she, like her mom, knew that I didn't like to be the center of attention and was probably going to try and distract Mandy as much as possible.

I blinked when I heard the door open, and my jaw fell ever so slightly when I saw Uncle George holding it. I couldn't read what sort of expression he was wearing, but it didn't make me feel any easier. Both his and Jake's voices were perfectly even, almost making me feel a tinge of jealousy.

"Ah, you must be _Jackie_."

"It's Jake, actually." He grinned.

My uncle gave a short grunt in response, rubbing the back of his head thoughtfully and sighed. Where was all the yelling? The: '_What on Earth were you thinking?'_ lectures or '_Have you lost your mind?'_ speech. But he was completely calm when he asked Jake to come in and make himself hat home. I couldn't tell if he truly meant that, or if he was going to swing around and say "Ha! Like I'll ever let _you_ in! Go home!" When Uncle George was out of sight I gave a long sigh and looked towards Jake. His grin was a little brighter than usual, whereas most of the time his attempts to smile or laugh were either tired-expressed smirks or mused snorts. I was glad that we were on speaking terms now, especially because I had been feeling that there was going to be a wave of lectures hidden somewhere in the house.

Jake was almost annoyingly confidant.

"See? He wasn't too harsh."

"Not _yet_ he hasn't. I can usually read him… but now he's being completely calm. Maybe he's slaphappy."

Jake chuckled. "You worry too much."

"And you worry too little… well… let's go see what the tyrant wants."

_**4:12PM**_

The house was just as I remembered it to be, well the living room at least. I noticed immediately that they had built-in the white bookshelves towering next to each side of the fireplace mantel, while the medium-sized TV hung out on top of the fireplace (before, they had a big old TV that sat awkwardly next to the fireplace). The peach leathered three-seat couch stood a few feet away from it, while the rosewood coffee table was pulled a few inches back to it. On each side of the couch was a pair of magazine racks for additional entertainment, and then there was a single leather chair off to the side.

On the right of the living room was the wall-less gourmet kitchen, themed with iron and granite appliances, with a single rosewood island in the center. To the left of the kitchen, I quickly noticed the rugged stairs, which would lead up into the four rooms._ First one to the right was the guest room… so I'm guessing that's going to be my permanent room. Uncle George probably bunked Mandy with Ginger, since Oliver didn't want to have to share a room with a girl._

Downstairs there was only one full-room and a half room: the full room was Uncle George's study, where he did most of his financial work, whereas the smaller room use to be Aunt Terri's. I assumed that they hadn't gone in there since the funeral, not wanting to go through any of her things. I was under the assumption that there was something of mine in there, the sixteenth birthday gift that she said that she was going to send to me, but it never came through. _She must have been in the hospital by then…_

Jake gave an impressed whistle, both arms carrying both Oliver and my duffel bags over his shoulders. I inched away shyly, wincing when I heard an ecstatic scream from the stairs. I groaned, _Mandy_. Before I could try and scoot away from her, she was already charging towards me with wide arms. Hopefully, I looked up to Jake, but his grin told me something among the lines of:_ "Sorry, you're on your own for this one_." When she tackled me, I staggered backwards until my head hit into the wooden shades.

"Ouch!"

"Kat, you _have_ to tell me what happened during the trip! Full details!" She looked back towards Jake for a moment then leaned into my ear. "Including Indian-boy."

I rolled my eyes, knowing that she probably wouldn't know the difference between a Korean and a Filipino. "He's _Native American_."

"Same difference." She shrugged.

"Can you find me your history book so I can slam it against your brain? I'm sure you'll be able to work on it after the—" I paused at the word _surgery_, then, immediately covered it within a second, "—ringing in your head stops."

She ignored my sarcasm. "I don't get my books until high school starts. Isn't that great? We're _actually_ going to school together! And I've been into the school more than you have, so I can start showing you around and…and it's going to be a blast! I hope I don't get Mrs. Heidi like Ginger… she said that the teacher was really bossy and…" I sighed, letting her nonsense rambling go through my ears. I could tell that she was in a great deal of pain and was only adding onto her perkiness, possibly because she was tired of continuous sobbing and uncontrollable pain. Part of me was feeling bad about me not paying much attention, but the talk of random people who I had never met felt… awkward. The only friend I _did_ know was Beth, who I vaguely remember from one of my summers over here. I spoke up halfway through her sentence.

"How's Beth doing?"

Mandy was silent for a moment, then, pulled herself up to her feet.

"She's been missing for a while… they… they think she's—"

"Hey, what are you crazy kids doing standing around here?" Uncle George boomed unnecessarily. "Katrina, you must be exhausted from the trip. Why don't you head on over to your room? Jake—" I noticed that his hands gripped when he spoke his name, "—is putting your bags in your room. I know you've wanted a new style of glasses for a while, so I got a new pair. You haven't changed the prescription yet, have you?"

They were all unnaturally happy. Well, I couldn't say _all_ since I haven't seen Ginger yet, but I doubted she wanted to talk to anyone anytime soon. Not even me. I remembered that she had cried over a goldfish that had died from lack of food, then, another one died from having too _much_ food littering all over the bowl. Her parents had decided to stop at two fish, and although they thought that goldfish were the easiest to take care of, but in all truth any kind of pet was difficult to take care of. _Maybe it was a good thing that Florence stayed behind… mom knows how I scheduled her feeding, and she probably needs something to keep her busy. The company would be nice…_

"Katrina?"

My head lifted automatically. "I'll let myself in, thanks."

* * *

Truthfully, I _was_ tired. Sleeping in the car for the first day wasn't the wisest thing that I had done—my muscles weren't as sore as they were before, but I could still feel the tinge from sleeping in the car in the First Day. The Second and Third Days I had tried to get use to Jake's snoring, which (to my great surprise) was easier than I thought it would have been. I didn't know what Jake did when he left us (after I told him about the boy that I thought was Quilueute), but I knew he hadn't been sleeping for the day. A shade of darkness was starting to paint back onto his features (although he had gotten two nights of sleep, it still hadn't completely vanished; in fact, he looked a little worse).

Jake had just started walking down the steps when I was halfway through the stairs. As he started to pass me, he lightly patted my hand, but I clutched his wrist with both of my hands just before he left.

"Jake, you need rest."

He was silent.

"I know you've been running around somewhere—I don't know why or where to, but knock it off. You'll wear yourself out before you know it."

His husky voice grew bitter. "I don't need you to tell me what to do."

"Jake, _please_."

I turned around to face his broad back, not expecting any sort of reaction from him. He sighed and jerked his hand away from me, muttering something in his native tongue as he lightly stomped down the stairs. Since he didn't give me a flat out "no" made me feel a whole lot better, but he didn't exactly say yes either. I stood in the hallway for a long while, not exactly sure what to do with myself. _I might as well go to bed_. _Maybe I can clear my head a little…_

_**1:53AM**_

And I did clear my head a little, but the only problem was the fact that I had woken up in the middle of the night. There was a small whimper, a _very_ familiar whimper that sounded as though it was against the white wall of the guest—_my_ room. I sighed. _Don't you see? This is why I don't like to keep up with change: it takes too long for me to get use to thing. I could probably do fine in Calculus, or maybe even World History—that's all the brainy stuff that's happened in the past. But change? No way. Science and relativity is more of a _nightmare_ than I am driving the Sedan. It's all too confusing… _

"Katie? Katie are you awake?" a mousy voice whispered.

There was no point of avoiding her by pretending to sleep, and as Jake said, I'm a horrible liar, but only when I'm not focused. I shifted my body so the right side of me was lying on the bed as I gazed to her. She was wrapped around one of her mother's quilts—one of the quilts she had made for me as well. I think Aunt Terri made Oliver a casual Christmas sweater—he seemed to like it.

"Yeah Gini, what's up?"

"I… I…" she couldn't bring herself to say it and choked "She's gone Katty… she's gone…"

I gave another sigh, but this one was not as annoyed as my other one had sounded; it was almost thoughtful. I got out of bed and pulled the quilt with me, wrapping it around myself before sitting beside Ginger. She bit her lower lip, crying out softly and dug her face into my stomach. I gently wrapped my arms around her and setting my chin on the top of her head, humming the tune passed down from sisters to daughters. She clanged tighter onto me, more tears overflowing her eyes. Part of me knew something that she was thinking: she felt stupid for crying like a baby, even though she _was_ the oldest.


End file.
